


Dinner Party

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash), UltimateFandomTrash



Series: Meet and Greet [2]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 17:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/UltimateFandomTrash
Summary: Stiles invites the Winchesters over for dinner, and not everything goes as smoothly as planned.





	Dinner Party

**Author's Note:**

> This really isn't my best writing, and I know this sequel's taken _forever_ to come out, so I thought I'd just share it with you guys. Hopefully it's not too terrible.

Stiles didn’t really know why he’d invited the two hunters he’d met over for dinner, not when they hunted creatures such as his wife. But he liked to think that for a night they could ignore their job and just have fun with him, like they had while drinking together after finishing up that werewolf case. He had told Lydia what they were, and to his surprise she didn’t seem the least bit angry. It was shocking, and he found himself tiptoeing around her, thinking maybe she was holding it in.

Neither he or Lydia were very good cooks, but they were making an effort for their guests. It wasn’t much, just chicken parm. Hopefully not even they could screw that up. Funny that Lydia could create chemical compounds yet she had difficulties frying chicken. But, Stiles could crack open cases that people couldn’t even wrap their heads around, and there he was, an apron on, trying to figure out how to preheat the oven (he hadn’t used it before).

“Honey, is the water boiling yet?” Lydia called to him from where she stood by the counter, hands covered in egg and flour. Stiles peered at the pot of water, which looked to just be roiling angrily, but wasn’t yet bubbling.

“Nope,” he informed her.

“Why did you have to invite them over?” she asked, fire in her tone.

There it was. That’s what he’d been waiting for.

Stiles figured out the right buttons he had to press, and then he turned to her, leaning against the counter.

“Lydia, look, I told you. They’re great guys.”

“Yeah, well they’re hunters. Two hunters in my house doesn’t necessarily sound like a good thing.”

Stiles took her hand even though it had been touching raw chicken and was dripping with egg yolk. Lydia raised her eyebrows at him, but he kept his gaze sincere.

“If you sense anything, anything at all, I’ll call them back, tell them it’s a no go.”

She sighed, and then admitted. “I don’t sense  _ anything _ . I’m just… I’m just nervous.”

“You survived everything you did in high school and  _ you’re _ nervous?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Stiles grinned at her tone, and she promptly threw flour at him. He started spitting, trying to get it out of his mouth, hurriedly wiping his tongue with his clean hand, which set her off laughing. Even though there was still flour on his face, falling off of him and onto his shirt and the floor, Stiles still found himself smiling at her.

Then he gave her a kiss on the cheek, while she protested because of the flour. After managing to plant one on her he went to go wash up.

 

“Sam, you sure this is a good idea?”

“Dude, calm down. It’s Stiles. That guy’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel of the Impala nervously. They were half an hour away from the address Stiles had given them, and there was something coiling tight in his stomach, like he was getting ready to fight. Castiel and Jack were back at the bunker, so they were down two men. If Lydia attacked…

“I’m not worried about him,” Dean admitted.

“What, so you’re worried about his wife? You saw that picture of her. She looks as kind as a monster can be.”

“Yeah, but how many monsters have we met that are actually  _ good _ ?”

“A few,” Sam argued.

“Yeah, and usually we end up having to kill ‘em.”

“Not her. She went to high school and then MIT, and she works for the freakin’ government. And guess what? No dead bodies.”

“Except for that one guy Stiles told us about,” Dean reasoned.

“So? That was self defense. We’ve  _ both _ been there. Just try to relax. I’m sure we’ll have a good time.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled, eyes on the road as the sky darkened. “This is stupid.”

“Didn’t think it was stupid when you agreed to it,” Sam muttered.

Dean decided to not say anything back. Sam was right about that. Dean wanted to see Stiles, but his wife - though  _ really _ hot - was another matter entirely. It wasn’t normal to be going into a monster’s house, to be  _ invited _ into a monster’s house. Maybe this was a trap. But Dean didn’t tell Sam that, decided he’d just take precautions without letting him know.

 

When they pulled up to Stiles and Lydia’s spectacularly large house, Dean sheathed a bronze knife into the back of his jeans. Sam didn’t even notice. They made their way up a stone pathway to the front door, and rang the doorbell. Stiles and Lydia both answered it, and Dean recognized her from the picture he’d been shown. She was even more beautiful in real life, wearing a pink and white floral dress that went down to her ankles, and he beamed at her. Stiles was a lucky man. There didn’t seem to be anything monster-y about her, but still, he knew it was best to be cautious.

They greeted them warmly, Stiles patting their shoulders, Lydia shaking their hands, and then they led them inside. They took them through a white hallway with hardwood floors, hand drawn pictures of trees and flowers hanging in portraits on the walls. Closer inspection showed that they were all signed by Lydia. So she was an artist too.

When they were about to enter the kitchen, Stiles put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, telling Sam, “You go ahead. Just want to talk to your brother really quick.”

Dean’s hand twitched, wanting to grab the knife, even though Stiles was human.

Sam gave him a skeptical look, but Dean nodded, and then Sam went to go talk with Lydia. They started up a conversation about some sort of equations - those nerds.

Stiles’s eyes turned dark as he stepped in front of Dean, blocking him from getting farther down the hallway.

“I saw you outside,” he told him. “You’re hiding something. What is it?”

Dean smiled, trying to calm Stiles down. “What are you talking about? I’m not hiding anything.”

Stiles took a step closer to him, somehow making Dean feel like he was being looked down to even though he was younger and shorter than him.

“Oh yeah? Then why’d your hand twitch? Last I checked that’s a tell. You want to reach for something. I don’t know who you think I am, Dean, and I like to think that after working together for a few days, we got to know each other pretty well, but I’m prepared to kick you out of my house.”

Everything about Stiles was threatening, from his tone, to his stance, to his gaze. And it was something that he seemed  _ comfortable _ with. Damn, the kid really had been possessed by a demon before, and it had clearly left some kind of mark on him. But… maybe he’d already been like this before.

How had Sam and Dean missed this? Underneath that snark, that sass, those snappy comebacks, clumsiness, and easy smile, was something dark, pained.

“Look, Stiles, I like you, kid. I do, but your wife over there?” Dean glanced over Stiles’s shoulder to see Lydia and Sam laughing about some joke. “She has the ability to kill us, and she could. She could turn on you like  _ that _ .” For emphasis he snapped his fingers. “So yeah, I came prepared. Sue me.”

“Give it to me.”

“What?”

Stiles held out his hand, tone stern as he repeated, “Give it to me.”

Dean knew exactly what he was referring to, but he wasn’t about to hand his knife over.

“You sure you want to make a scene in front of your wife?” he questioned.

Stiles took another step forward, his eyes darkening even more somehow, and it was menacing. Dean held his ground, and tension was thick in the hallway.

“My wife can tell when people are about to die,” Stiles said. “I wonder what she’d say about you if I called her in here right now.”

“You wouldn’t,” Dean responded, trying to call Stiles’s bluff. But the younger man’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Give me the knife,” he told him. “I know you have one with you.”

“Hey, guys, everything okay over there?” Sam asked, coming into the hallway.

“Totally fine,” Stiles answered without blinking, his tone the complete opposite of how he’d been threatening Dean.

Dean’s gaze flickered to his brother, a warning, and Sam swallowed roughly. He turned back to Lydia, and decided to keep her talking, now asking her about what it was like at her job. Dean was half-listening in, wondering if she was going to threaten his brother somehow. Funny how the guy they’d fought alongside could suddenly turn on them like this.

“Give me the knife, or I make sure you never see me or Lydia ever again.”

“What are you gonna do? Arrest me?” he retorted.

“I could, you know. I did some digging. Those mass murderers who shot up to the FBI’s most wanted list when I was in high school? It’s you guys. Well, I bet it wasn’t  _ really _ you since those guys died, maybe some kind of shapeshifters, but just one phone call to my boss, and I can make sure the two of you disappear forever.”

Dean groaned, and reached for his bronze knife. He handed it to Stiles, and then he smiled at him, eyes still dark.

“Glad we could work things out.”

Stiles went to go hide the knife, and Dean sauntered into the kitchen.

 

Lydia glanced at her husband, saw something metallic glint in his hand, and then he was walking past Dean. She frowned slightly, but didn’t draw attention to it, and then went back to Sam, smiling to show that she was still invested in the conversation.

Dean came in, announcing, “Dinner smells good.”

“Thanks. Stiles and I really don’t know how to cook, but we thought we’d give it a try.”

The counter had been cleaned off, and now the food was in the oven. It’d probably be done pretty soon.

Stiles came back with a bottle of wine, clearly an excuse for what he’d been doing. They all seemed to know it, but didn’t draw attention to it. Some of the tension seemed to be passing, but it was still around Dean. Sam seemed more calm now, for whatever reason, and Lydia figured he must have had some silent conversation with his brother when she wasn’t paying attention.

They all sat down at the table, wine glasses in hand, though Stiles had just filled his with water at the moment. Lydia had tried getting him into alcohol, and she knew he’d had a few drinks in high school, including at one of her parties, but it really wasn’t his thing. Maybe he still had bad memories from when she’d accidently drugged everyone.

“So, Lydia,” Dean began, “how does being a banshee work?”

Sam cleared his throat, and glared at his brother. Dean frowned, and Lydia brushed her hair back from her shoulders, clasping her hands in front of her. She’d known this question was coming. They were hunters; of course it was.

After eyeing Stiles pointedly, to which he raised his hands and shrugged, she asked, “What do you want to know?”

“Well, we kinda want to know if you’re gonna kill us,” Dean said bluntly.

“Yes, Dean,” she said, making her voice as sardonically sweet as possible. “I invited the two of you over here and went through the trouble of trying to cook just so I could kill you. Great plan.” Lydia reached out and grabbed Stiles hand, looking at him, “Isn’t that our big plan, honey?”

Stiles joked, but seemed slightly uncomfortable, “Yeah, totally.”

“Dean, just lay off,” Sam said.

“Hey, I was just making sure we’re not in danger, especially since  _ someone _ ,” - he eyed Stiles pointedly - “took my knife.”

Lydia glanced at Stiles with wide eyes, and Stiles shot her a smile that said he’d taken care of it.

Sam looked appalled.

“You brought a knife?”

“I don’t have it on me now, so just forget it, okay?” he grumbled.

Lydia’s pulse had started racing, but Parrish had taught her how to fight, and Meredith had taught her how to use her voice. She’d withstood monsters, real monsters, things more threatening than the two men who sat at her table now. She had guessed there would be a problem like this, but hadn’t been able to deter Stiles from inviting them over. He’d apparently gotten friendly with them, so they couldn’t be all bad.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” Lydia told them with complete confidence. “You want my story? Fine, you can have it.”

“Lydia, you don’t-” Stiles began, putting a hand on her arm.

“It’s fine,” she told him before addressing the hunters again, “I was born a human. Sophomore year homecoming I was attacked by an alpha werewolf, and I almost bled out on a lacrosse field. Stiles found me, and brought me to the hospital. For awhile nothing happened except it seemed like I went crazy - fugue states, walking around in the woods naked -” Dean made an odd look at that, and Stiles glowered at him, “and then I kept finding dead bodies, and hearing voices. I didn’t know what I was, thought maybe I was psychic. My english teacher, who was really a darach-”

“A what?” Sam interrupted.

“A dark druid,” Stiles responded. “Don’t you two know anything?”

Dean shot him a look of fake amusement, and Stiles grinned. Sam didn’t seem to be that touched by the comment.

“As I was saying,” Lydia went on, “the darach tried to kill me. I screamed, and then she told me what I was. A banshee. So yeah, my screams can kill people, and I have killed someone, but he was a bad guy. But mostly I hear when people are going to die. I heard my friend Allison die. Does that make you happy? Does it make you happy to know that I’m not a monster and I just have voices in my head warning me about things, forces I can hardly stop?”

Stiles was rubbing his thumb against her knuckles, and Lydia realized she was gripping her wine glass extremely hard. She took a sip from it.

“Sorry,” Sam told her, sounding genuine. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”

He elbowed his brother, who then apologized as well, and he seemed to mean it.

The timer went off, and Stiles rushed to get the food out of the oven.

 

Since they’d gotten all that had been bothering Dean out of the way, he turned into a smiley, weird, fun-loving kind of guy. Stiles was glad that side of him was coming out. As dinner progressed he ended up giving up on holding the wine glass correctly, and just held it in his fist. Sam laughed and shook his head at that. Sam was nice, as he’d always been to Stiles, and he and Lydia seemed to get along. Truthfully, Stiles couldn’t keep up with all their conversations. Apparently Sam was just about as smart as Lydia, though Stiles figured his wife was still smarter.

The four of them did talk about the supernatural, what it was like for them in high school, how the Winchesters had grown up.

Lydia and Stiles ended up tearfully talking about Allison, though Stiles did his best to hold his own emotions at bay, wanting to be there for his wife. Guilt stabbed him so hard he almost excused himself from the table. Guilt often tried to murder him whenever the topic of Allison came up.

There was sympathy from both hunters, a good deal of it, and Stiles knew he had judged correctly when he’d decided to trust them, to become friends with them.

After dinner, which didn’t yield any leftovers thanks to both hunters eating a great deal, they brought out dessert, which they didn’t try to hide had been picked up from the local bakery. Still, Dean enjoyed the pie with gusto, eating it so fast that Sam looked like he was going to be sick, and Stiles and Lydia were so full from dinner they only managed to have a little bit.

They realized that they all had some things in common. While they had been on different sides throughout their lives, they realized that they’d all faced trauma, and had come out the other side. And the two brothers knew what it was like to kill and feel guilty about that. Stiles could relate to that, but Lydia didn’t seem to harbor much guilt about killing Valack. Good. Stiles had been prepared to kill him himself, which was something that frightened him.

As they were leaving, the two brothers clapped Stiles on the shoulders, and they each pulled Lydia in for a hug. He was pleased when neither of them got handsy with her, and instead seemed to feel a strong, platonic closeness with her. Stiles didn’t blame them. Lydia could be cold and fiery all at once, but she was easy to love.

Stiles had even given Dean his knife back before he left, and he apologized to both of them for bringing it into the house, blushing as he did so.

The door closed, and Lydia turned to him, looking tired, but happy.

“I like them,” she told him.

He pulled her into a hug. “Yeah, I do too.” After giving her a deep, sleepy kiss that he hummed into contentedly, he took her hand, and told her, “Come on, let’s clean up, and then get to bed.”


End file.
